Your Apron Would Look Better on the Floor
by sharingank
Summary: Naruto...Sakura...and a kitchen table. NaruSaku oneshot.


Aww, hell, I was going to keep this an LJ exclusive, but...since Naru/Saku is so near and dear to my heart (and there will never be enough of it XD) I decided to share. Written originally for _Smiter. _Hope y'all enjoy!

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**Your Apron Would Look Better on the Floor**

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Naruto liked watching Sakura cook.

Their kitchen was larger than most, because the blonde Hokage could eat enough by himself to feed three small armies, and their son, while only a year old, was right on his father's heels. Sakura commented jokingly once that they may as well buy out an entire chain of grocery stores what with all the money they spent to keep the pantries stocked each week, and Naruto was serious when told her he wouldn't object to the notion. In the offchance that Konoha suffered a major natural disaster--like a series of tornadoes or a blizzard that launched the next Ice Age, for instance--having all that food stockpiled would come in handy. Being prepared for anything, he explained, straight-faced, was _essential_ when you were a ninja.

Of course, Sakura dissolved into giggles once his lengthy dissertation came to a close and shooed him off to mow the lawn, which had begun to resemble a small forest. She did bake him a chocolate layer cake that night, though, so he couldn't really complain about the pair of shorts he'd ruined when they got caught under the mower--he still refused to go into the gory details of _that_ particular incident, despite the fact that his wife had offered any number of tempting bribes for the information.

She didn't know about the extra pair of handcuffs he had hidden beneath his side of the mattress. He wasn't a one-trick pony. Sure, the prospect of Sakura allowing hers out of confinement for a few wild nights was exciting, but the element of surprise was signed to Team Naruto.

That's just the way their relationship worked. A constant battle of wills--and wits. The Rokudaime had made some advances in that department since the early days of his career, though he didn't doubt the impact of Sakura's influence. He learned a lot from her merely by incessant observation.

Hell, as far as he was concerned, she _was_ an education, and he'd gladly be her pupil until they died.

So he asked her to marry him, and she accepted. It was the medic in her, she said, but he knew she loved him. She screamed it often enough when she was on her back.

But that was of little consequence, naturally.

The vantage point the kitchen table provided was most advantageous for surveillance, particularly from where he sat. Face resting against the palm of one hand, Naruto had a completely unobstructed view of his tiny wife as she bustled about preparing dinner, and he could not help but smile as one of his oldest childhood fantasies was made real.

Well...almost.

In the dreams, she wore her frilly pink apron over bare skin, but...he supposed the strapless sundress worked, too.

Beggars can't be choosers.

He was amazed she actually put on the apron at all. Naruto gave it to her for their anniversary a few years ago, and it became a kind of ritual for her to wear it whenever she cooked. That suited him perfectly.

Although...today, he felt a very strong _conviction_ that he should be a compassionate husband and rid her of the extra, unneeded material. It was sweltering in here anyway, and he could see the sweat trickle down her forehead before dripping off her chin...

Sakura was willingly subjecting herself to discomfort to make dinner for them. According to unspoken rule, he owed her a favor.

Naruto tried his utmost to follow the rules to the letter. He had to set a good example for his child.

The smile became a smirk that made his eyes--they had flashed crimson very briefly, but he reasserted control over Kyuubi's impulses--narrow.

Time to hunt.

Sliding around the table, silent as a specter, Nartuo advanced upon his prey, who conveniently had her back to him while she stirred the contents of a stainless-steel pot--meatballs and sausage in tomato sauce, which meant spaghetti for certain.

Sakura's spaghetti was one of his favorites. He was definitely liberating her from that apron.

Lost in her own world, the pink-haired kunoichi hummed the melody of a song that had played on the radio recently, oblivious to her husband's approach. Later, she would curse herself for the complete lack of vigilance that might have saved their meal, but much, much later...It was impossible to feel regret over a pot of spaghetti sauce when your husband knew how to do things with his mouth that were not appropriate topics for idle conversation.

Only when his hands were positioned securely on either of her hips did Sakura realize she was in trouble.

"Smells good," Naruto's lips were at her ear, and he trailed them around the curve of her neck. "Nearly _edible_." He playfully nipped at the skin he encountered there, and she shivered, doing her best to keep her breathing even.

When Naruto was in one of these moods, even the slightest shift in her body language would drive him over the edge.

"How long have you been there?" She asked, and lowered the heat of the burner a bit. Maybe if she feigned preoccupation, he would lose interest and go away.

And as soon as she thought that, she knew it for the falsehood that it was. Posing an obstacle to Naruto was similar to tempting a lion with a raw piece of meat. He'd strike hard and fast, and he wouldn't relent until he had what he wanted.

In this case...her.

"Does it really matter?" He wondered, busy fingers working at the knot that secured her apron.

Sakura had trouble forming a coherent response. His closeness was starting to affect her composure. "No, I guess not." Cautiously, she snuck a peek over her shoulder and saw what he was doing. "I haven't finished in here yet," she protested, trying to squirm out of his hold.

Naruto wasn't having that.

"Sakura-chan," he murmured in a pouty voice he knew drove her crazy, "I only want to help."

That threw her off guard.

"What?" She really didn't understand the way his mind worked sometimes. "You're _not_ helping. I can't concentrate with you hovering over me like this." She waved a wooden spoon at him. "Take a hike, fox."

"But you're hot," Naruto insisted as if she hadn't spoken. "You could get heatstroke." The knot came loose, and he slowly pulled the ties apart. "Besides," he added, tone impish, "your apron would look better on the floor."

This time, when he turned her around to face him and lifted the garment over her head, Sakura did not try to stop him.

"Table?" Her voice was hoarse, but she could care less.

Naruto chuckled deep in his throat. "We've never actually tried that, have we?" She was already attacking his clothes when he picked her up.

"There's a first time for everything," she rasped, and yanked his head down to silence him.

The spaghetti continued to simmer on the stove, completely forgotten.


End file.
